


Like a Hero

by nightlighttuesdays



Category: Supernatural
Genre: (one singular panic attack), Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - School, American History, Andrew Jackson - Freeform, Castiel Angst, Castiel Has Panic Attacks, Castiel Watches Movies, Castiel and Dean Winchester are Teenagers, Dean is a Softie, Driving, High School, Homework, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Indiana Jones - Freeform, M/M, Making Out, My first fic, Nerd Castiel, Popular Dean, Teenagers, at the beginning at least?, i dunno, i tagged this better now?, kids are assholes, let's write some mid 1800s presidential fanfic, my fave tag, startin the andrew jackson tag hell yeah, they don't have sex sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-25
Updated: 2014-01-07
Packaged: 2018-01-06 03:27:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1101844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightlighttuesdays/pseuds/nightlighttuesdays
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>According to high school code, Castiel Novak and Dean Winchester should not get along this well. Dean is popular, Cas is waiting for his ticket out, and Andrew Jackson would probably want to be left out of their teenage love story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Where have all the good men gone?

**Author's Note:**

> okay, so this is my first fanfic. ever. so if it's fantastically horrible, my deepest apologies. i was halfway through the second chapter when I got holding out for a hero stuck in my head, so, that's my excuse for the weird chapter titles.

“Chuck and...ah, Becky. One of you, reach into the hat and see what the future holds.”

Chuck looks like he's on the brink of an aneurysm when he pulls a folded slip of paper out of the fedora his teacher’s shoving under his nose.

“And?’

“Um, uh, the effects of Hitler’s background on the war he started?”

“Great, great. Time’s 1938 Man of the Year. Real kinky guy.’

Becky’s practically glowing. “He was totally gay, you know,” she whispers to Castiel. “Complete asshole, but totally gay.”

He frowns. “Are you sure about-”

“And Castiel,” Mr. Roche interrupts. “You’ll be working with...ah…” his eyes search the attendance sheet. Castiel’s already done the math. There are only four unattached students left, and Mr. Roche likes him, so it stands to reason that he’ll be paired with Anna. Dean Winchester and Lisa Braeden will be free to go party and make out, and that really works for Castiel because Anna’s smart and they’ll probably be done a week before the deadline anyway.

“You and Dean should have some interesting ideas.”

Castiel stares at Mr. Roche. Dean Winchester will not work. He’s a slacker, everyone knows that. He’s not even in class today, probably off nursing a hangover or dealing drugs or something. Castiel hears things. Bad things.

“Castiel,” Mr. Roche rattles the hat in front of him. “Pick a topic.” With a gulp, he reaches in.

“Andrew Jackson,” he reads blankly. “Hero or villain.”

He can tell Mr. Roche’s smiling, even though he can’t drag his eyes from the slip of paper in his hand.

“Fantastic! Great topic for the pair of you. Just be sure you defend your position.” Castiel nods like a robot. “Brilliant. It’ll be brilliant, the pair of you together. Now, Anna…” He’s still talking, hasn’t stopped since the beginning of the period, since the beginning of the year, really, but Castiel can’t hear anything past the roaring in his ears.

He’s fucked. Completely fucked. He’s never felt as overwhelmingly hopeless as he does in this moment, with the knowledge that he’ll be forced into spending time with Dean the Delinquent, who’s probably unnaturally opinionated on Andrew Jackson and will be Castiel’s greatest obstacle to an A. He’ll probably just screw everything up, because as far as Castiel can tell, that’s what Dean does, and - wait.

Castiel’s eyes snap up from the paper. Dean isn’t here. Dean isn’t here a lot. And maybe Dean won’t notice that they’ve got a term paper until it’s too late for him to interfere. He doesn’t mind doing the whole thing himself and then typing Dean Winchester next to Castiel Novak on the cover page. He really, really doesn’t.

The only thing is his conscience, which seems to think that maybe this is a bad idea. Consciences are stupid, though, and Castiel decides that it’s foolproof. Maybe it’s actually a good thing, getting paired with Dean Winchester; like not even having gotten a partner in the first place.

By the time he leaves school, Castiel’s got half the paper written in his head and plans to go to the library later.


	2. Where you at, streetwise Hercules?

It’s been a week since Mr. Roche assigned the topics, and Dean’s only been in history class twice. The paper’s going along pretty well, and Castiel is sure he’ll have it long finished before it’s due next month. There’s the vaguely painful guilt that lurks behind his eyes everytime he thinks about Andrew Jackson, but he just really wants an A.

As soon as he’s out of math class, he crams all his books in his locker, then grabs his black lunchbox and heads towards the cafeteria. Becky and Chuck are already at the usual table, Anna nowhere to be found and Gabe enroute to the ice cream machine.

“Hey, Castiel,” Chuck looks relieved as the boy sits down. Becky’s practically vibrating next to Chuck, which can only mean that something huge is happening in the wonderful world of fandom.

“Guess what?”

“What?” Castiel tries. He really does.

“Sterek is so totally happening!” Stiles was talking to Derek in last night’s ep and…” But it’s not like a teen boy can be expected to have the patience of a saint. He’s sort of adapted the ability to follow her conversation while simultaneously absorbing nothing of the subject matter, which is helpful during Teen Wolf season.

“So, uh, how’s your paper coming along?” Chuck intercedes before Becky can start reading fanfiction aloud or making flower crowns (Lord knows, she’s already tried).

“Pretty well, actually,” Castiel sets down his PB & J sandwich for a moment. “I mean, I decided to focus on Jackson as a villain, because of the atrocities that he committed towards the Indians, and all the people he killed. I just have to get a few more sources from the library.”

Chuck and Becky are both staring at him, and he wonders if maybe Jackson as a villain wasn’t as obvious of a choice as he thought. “Uh, Castiel, have you actually, like, talked to Dean about the paper? Like, at all?” Becky looks concerned.

Castiel slowly takes a bite of his sandwich. “Um.”

Becky’s eyes are huge. “Does he even know?”

Another bite. No eye contact. Shit. Maybe consciences aren’t overrated. “Um.”

Chuck whistles. “Dude. Shouldn’t you at least tell him you’re doing the whole paper for him?”

“It’s not like he’ll care,” Castiel snaps as he stands, trying to ignore the ugly knot in his stomach that’s reminding him of that niggling doubt, that maybe his judgment was a little fucked up. A lot fucked up. “I’m going to the bathroom.” He leaves his half eaten sandwich and lunch box behind, knowing that Gabe will bring it home when he realizes that Castiel won’t be returning.

He’s about to bypass the bathroom and hide in the back of the library, but then he starts to feel a panic attack coming on and he’d rather not get kicked out for getting a little loud. Instead, Castiel picks a stall and leans against the door, trying to keep his breath steady and ignore the lightheaded feeling that’s starting over him.

He fucked up.

Dean Winchester’s going to fuck him up.

He’s going to die, and the paper’s only half done.

Fuck.

Fuck Mr. Roche.

Dean Winchester’s going to kill him 42 different ways.

Castiel fucked up.

He’s going to fail the paper.

He’s going to fail school.

He’s going to die at the age of 17.

Fucking fuck what the fuck is wrong with him who the fuck even does that?

He hopes Dean Winchester really fucks him up because Castiel deserves it.

Castiel is not controlling his breathing.

Castiel is in a ball on the floor.

Castiel is about to pass out.

Castiel is hallucinating, because those are hands and that’s a face that looks like Dean Winchester, and can’t he just black out and stop thinking?

Castiel gets his wish.

 

 

* * *

“Shit. Dude, come on, really? Shit. Shit. Please don’t be dead, please don’t be dead,” Dean is losing his shit. He just came into the bathroom for a quick piss and a mental pep talk to tell Lisa that he’s really not feeling it anymore, but then there’s this kid from his history class hyperventilating on the floor and then suddenly he’s not really breathing at all anymore and DEAN IS NOT A PARAMEDIC. He barely kept his kid brother out of the ER growing up and what the hell are you supposed to do with a panic attack?

He’d pulled the guy - Castee-something?- out from under the stall door and is now searching for a pulse, which, when he finally finds it, feels sort of normal. If he knew what normal felt like.

“Shit. Dude, wake up.”

Things are not going well, and Dean’s kind of worried that someone’s gonna find him in twenty minutes holding a dead guy in the boys bathroom. The thought weirds him out, and he checks the pulse again. Is it dropping? Is this guy gonna fucking die on him?

“Nope, nope, nope. Nope. Okay. I’m gonna take you to the nurse, okay? Cas?” He’s, like, 90% sure the guy’s name is Cas. Or something close.

No response.

“Okay. Nurse. Right.” _Where the fuck is the nurse’s office?_

Dean doesn’t really know what he’s doing, but he slings the guy’s backpack over a shoulder and awkwardly hoists him up.

“This has to look weird as fuck,” he mutters, not sure if he’s talking to himself or the unconscious guy he’s carrying, bridal-style, in his arms. He nudges the door open with a foot and peeks out in either direction. The halls are clear.

He hurries out, being extra careful that Cas’ head doesn’t get smashed in the bathroom door. There’s a difference between watching someone die and manslaughter, if Sammy’s law fetish has taught him anything.

Dean actually finds the nurse pretty easily, maybe because of that time a few years back that Jo was puking her guts out and Dean had to drag her to the nurse to make sure she didn’t trip and die on the way there. That was a lot different than this.

“Dude, you better be fucking grateful.” Dean whispers.

Cas’ head lolls to the side in response and Dean almost smiles. “I really hope you don’t remember any of this.”

The nurse is trained to not flip shit the way that Dean did, but she looks a little flustered as he enters.

“What happened?” She asks as Dean lays his floppy body down on a bed.

“He just - I didn’t do anything," he starts defensively. "It was like a panic attack or something, and then he was just out.” Like an afterthought, he straightens out the leg that’s dangling off the bed, making sure he at least looks comfortable. The nurse is bustling around, with a thermometer already between Cas’ lips and a glass of water on hand. Dean hangs around for a few minutes, long enough to hear her leave a message on his home answering machine, then his dad’s cell, then his brother’s cell, and long enough to know that nobody’s going to pick up.

“Is he gonna be okay?”

The nurse - Ms. Nora, her nametag reads - smiles reassuringly at Dean. “He’ll be fine, sweetheart. He just worked himself up into something, and his body wants to make sure he’s alright before he wakes up.”

Dean nods for a moment.

“You should get back to class, honey.”

“Yeah. I guess.”

“Let me write you a pass.” Dean nods again, but he’s just zoning out on Cas’ face. He didn’t realize it in the bathroom, but dude’s actually kind of hot. In a nerdy way. Which is weird, because he doesn’t swing that way. Not at all. But Cas is sort of an angular beauty, with his jaw all stubbled and his chapped lips and damn, even supposedly straight-as-an-arrow Dean can’t deny that the hair is sex incarnate.

He jumps at a hand on his shoulder. “Are you okay?” Nora asks.

He blinks up at her, then puts on his best smile. “Yup, just a little tired. Pulling a Hercules takes a lot outta you, y’know?”

When she laughs, she looks a lot younger. Pretty. Dean considers telling her this, but something feels weird about flirting when he’s still, technically, with Lisa. And Nora’s not exactly his type. Whatever.

She fills out the pass to Dean W. and sends him on his way, promising that she’ll get Cas back up to par so that Dean won’t have to ride in on his white horse and rescue him again. Dean's not sure that he'd mind.

 


	3. He's gotta be sure and it's gotta be soon

Castiel wakes up with a headache, and where the fuck is he?

“Oh good, you’re awake.”

His head swivels to see a blonde woman in her mid-20s smiling at him. “What?”

She hands him a glass of water and a pill. “I think you might’ve banged your head on the floor when you fell.”

“What?”

“Oh! Honey, what’s your name?”

“Uh, Castiel? Novak?”

“Castiel, that's a nice name. Do you know what day it is?”

“It’s...uh, Tuesday?”

“All right, good job, Castiel. Now, look straight ahead.”

He does as he’s told and suddenly there’s a bright light shining directly in his left eye.

“What the-”

“Sorry, I just have to make sure you don’t have a concussion. Which,” she peers into his face, “you don’t.”

When she leans away, Castiel catches a glimpse of a nametag, and suddenly everything makes sense. _Nurse’s office. I must have passed out._ It’s happened before, just never at school. It’s embarrassing.

“How did I get here?” Castiel asks as he sits up in the bed. He feels fine, more or less, and he’s got two more classes that he can’t miss.

Nurse Nora giggles. “You had a knight in shining armor. He carried you all the way here from the bathroom.”

Castiel has a sinking feeling in his gut.

“Who?”

He already knows.

“Do you know a Dean Winchester?”

Fuck.

“Uh. Yeah. Vaguely.”

It was not a hallucination.

“Such a sweetheart. He wanted to stay to make sure you were okay, but I sent him back to class a few minutes ago.”

Castiel tilts his head to the side and frowns. That doesn’t sound like the Dean Winchester he’s heard about.

Nora’s opens her mouth again, but there’s suddenly another boy in the office who looks fascinatingly green, and Castiel isn’t top priority anymore. She helps the boy into the bathroom, then pokes her head back out and instructs Castiel to, “take the pass on the desk, just write the time in and head back to class whenever you’re ready.”

Castiel takes that to mean now, so he grabs his backpack (Dean Winchester carried this all the way here for him?) and the pass and heads to chemistry. When Anna asks him what happened, why he never came back to lunch, he says he just felt a little funny and slept it off at the nurse’s. She doesn’t push.

He knows he should be focused on stoichiometry and balancing the list of problems his teacher’s assigned as busy work. He’s really not. He can’t stop thinking about stupid Dean Winchester. Even his name is stupid, because you can’t just call him Dean. It’s always Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester's funny, Dean Winchester’s popular, Dean Winchester’s a ladykiller, Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester.

Dean Winchester’s hot.

Castiel doesn't tend to notice the sexual appeal of his classmates, but even he can’t deny that Dean’s got it going on. There’s his athlete’s body; barely there abs and tight ass, the broad shoulders and confident walk. And his face, god, his face is perfect. Castiel’s sure he could find the golden ratio in Dean Winchester’s face with ease. He has feminine lips, pouty and hard to keep your eyes off of when he’s talking, and goddamn it Castiel isn’t shallow enough to get a crush on the guy after their first interaction.

He shakes his head and glares down at the paper, filling in numbers aggressively. Anna’s watching him, he can see it out of the corner of his eye.

“What?” He hisses.

She shakes her head, almost imperceptibly. “Something happened.”

Anna’s a good friend. She listens and never tells secrets, and Castiel sort of feels like he’s going to explode.

“Maybe.”

“You gonna spill?” She slides her chair a little closer.

Castiel takes a deep breath. “IsortofpassedoutinthebathroomandDeanWinchestercarriedmetothenurse.” He looks up to see Anna’s reaction.

She’s unreadable.

“Dean Winchester?”

Obviously, that would be the part she heard. Castiel nods.

“Aren’t you guys partners for the paper?”

He bites his lip. “Um. I may be writing the paper without him.”

“Castiel Novak!” She shrieks, beating him on the shoulder with her binder.

Their teacher fixes a disapproving eye on them, then returns to checking her email.

“You can’t just do that!” She’s gone down another octave, thankfully.

“I know,” Castiel mutters, not needing her helpful advice on top of his already Everest-high mountain of guilt. “I didn’t think he would care, and now it’s too late to tell him, and-”

“You better tell him today, or I swear to God, I will burn all your textbooks,” Anna looks downright terrifying, her eyes narrowed into slits. The force with which she clutches his arm and the actual fear of her following through with the threat makes Castiel cave.

“Fine. I’ll tell him in history.”

Anna nods righteously and they return to their pre-drama state of existing, which is a companionable silence and the occasional whisper.

Castiel still isn’t focused on the work.

He’s not sure he cares about single displacement reactions anymore, focusing more on avoiding another panic attack. He's  _so_ screwed. _  
_

* * *

 

He feels like puking. Two visits to the nurse in one day - that should be a record, right?

The problem is, Dean Winchester’s sitting ten feet away from him, and _staring_. At first, he had the decency to glance away whenever Castiel looked up, but now he's honest-to-God fixed on Castiel, who can't say he minds it.

Mr. Roche is talking about late 19th century industry, and Castiel knows it's important for the test. All the same, he can't help but steal one last furtive glance across the room, because maybe Dean Winchester just zoned out on his face. Things like that happen all the time.

But then Dean smiles, and Castiel has to subtly turn around to see who he’s looking at. There’s only Garth, and he’s never seen Dean so much as look at the guy, and when he turns back, Dean’s laughing into his hand.

Castiel flushes angrily and glares down at his pencil, like it’s the one making fun of him. He has better things to do than get teased by stupid popular boys, and it’s senior year, why are they still messing with him? When he was younger, he was, admittedly, extremely weird - that’s not saying he’s normal now, but aren’t people supposed to grow up? Stop fucking around with you because you’ve never had a girlfriend, because you’re serious about school and origami and muffins? Because that’s how he thought it was supposed to go; hit high school and people stop caring what you do, because everyone’s rebelling and it’s hormonally imbalanced teens against the world, and sure, they’ve got cliques, but cliques can overlap and you can talk to anyone, and you're never really alone, but that’s not how high school goes, and Castiel’s been ready for college for three years now, and it hasn’t gotten any better, and he really just has to survive six more months of hell before he can leave it all behind and find his own spot in the universe, one that doesn’t have six feet of broad shoulders and leather jackets and asshole jocks and cheerleaders, where he can just wear that fucking blue sweatervest and no one will call him a nerd or a geek or a fag, because it’ll just be him, and his books, and his origami and muffins, and then Castiel will be happy. He knows he will.

He just has to tell Dean Winchester about Andrew Jackson.

Six months.

* * *

 

 

Dean doesn’t know what happened. One second he’s watching Cas pretend that he can’t see Dean, shooting those little sideways glances across the room - the next, Cas looks like he’s about to set fire to his desk. Dean shifts uncomfortably in his chair. He’s pretty sure the hatred is meant for him, and he’s not sure what he did.

 _Maybe he thinks I’m creepy._ Dean had thought that carrying someone across half the school would get a few brownie points, but now that he reconsiders it, oh god. That’s really fucking weird.

He settles back in the seat and pretends to listen to Mr. Roche. Sitting still in class, paying attention, it’s never really been his thing. He’s not great at taking notes or tests or analyzing historical motives, but he’d somehow managed a high A the year prior and Sam had twisted his arm until he registered for the advanced course. Right now, he has a solid D- and he’s never taking Sam’s advice again. It’s not like he really cares what his transcripts look like because after graduation day, he’s off to work in Bobby’s garage, where he plans to never open another textbook ever again. There’s still the matter of maintaining a passing grade, but, whatever, he can probably bribe Mr. Roche with a free detail job on the sweet Charger he takes to work every day. So he’s fine. Really.

The period drags by, Mr. Roche just flipping through powerpoint after powerpoint on stupid facts that Dean might find interesting if they weren’t being crammed down his throat. He hopes it looks like he’s taking notes instead of drawing the fucking awesomest dragon anyone’s ever seen across his notebook, because dragons and knights and swords are, like, five million times better than whatever the hell a mechanical reaper is. But just because, he puts a little black cloaked man in the corner of the page. Reapers are kinda cool, too. _Robotic_ reapers. Dude. Fuck, that’s awesome. Okay, next page. Hell, he should’ve taken an art class this year, because Dean’s pretty sure he would’ve aced it. Shit, why aren’t robo-reapers a thing?

The bell finally rings for dismissal and Dean realizes that he actually has no idea what he’s supposed to know now, but on the plus side, kickass dragon and robo-reaper. He’ll take what he can get.

As he’s stuffing all his school supplies into the cheap backpack he got the second week of September, Mr. Roche comes to stand in front of his desk.

“Dean, we need to have a talk.”

Dean eyes the stragglers still in the back of the room. Damn it. Cas is taking his sweet time putting his pencils away, and for whatever reason, Dean doesn’t want him to hear whatever’s coming. It’s stupid, though, so he nods and stands up. He doesn’t like people talking down to him, and he has a feeling that’s what’s coming; Mr. Roche might as well have to look up while he’s doing it.

“Dean, if we’re speaking honestly - can we speak honestly?” He hardly waits for a nod. “Great. Well, honestly, your grades are terrible. And I’m not seeing a lot of effort to improve them, so you can see where my problem is.” No, he really can’t see what the problem is.

“Mr. Roche,” Dean replies quietly, “I’m not great at school, but I’m good at cars.” He stares at his teacher for a long moment, willing him to understand the offer. “That Charger could use a few touch-ups.” Just in case it’s not obvious enough.

“Mr. Winchester.” Mr. Roche sounds sort of pissed. Shit. Dean thought he’d be the kind of guy to go for something like that. “If you’re not going to take my class seriously, I’m not going to take you seriously. Pull up your grade or I’ll have to fail you.”

Dean’s frozen in place as his teacher turns and walks away. All he can think about is Bobby, and how he’s gonna fucking kill him. He has to graduate high school - that’s the deal. Bobby said that if Dean could buckle down long enough to make it through senior year, he’d get the keys to the ‘67 Impala his dad left them. Dean’s the only one that uses it anyway, but Bobby’s still the official owner.

Dean is so fucked. And that stupid asshole whose life he practically fucking saved is still there, not even pretending to be busy. He’s just fucking staring at Dean, like he’s a fucking _delinquent_ or something, and the dickwad could have the look trademarked because he’s such a fucking ace at disgust and pity at the same time.

“What the fuck do you want?” Dean growls.

Cas’ eyes are wide. “I just - um, um.”

Dean’s lip curls. “You like seeing me fuck shit up? God, I fucking carried you all the fucking - you know what, fuck you.”

“Dean.” Mr. Roche’s voice is hard. “You should leave.”

“I didn’t even - yeah. Awesome. Great. Great to finally meet you, Cas.” He hates himself for the waver in his voice at the end there, like he’s not even strong enough to be angry anymore, and when he storms out the door, he mutters the dirtiest string of curse words he’s ever had reason to express.

Dean heads to his locker because, well, apparently he has to do some studying tonight, god fucking damn it. He closes the metal door with an angry kick and a ‘ _fuck you_ ’ to the world and almost pisses himself.

Cas is standing where the door used to be, his cheeks flushed pink.

Dean looks at him wordlessly. Cas’ eyes are a lot bluer than he’d expected, and right now he looks sort of furious. Dean is already angry, but now he’s confused, because it’s kind of hot, and Dean’s lost his ability to speak, apparently.

“You’re an ass.” Cas says flatly. “You’re really an ass.” Dean grits his teeth and looks away, at the wall, the floor, anywhere but the blue eyes in front of him. “And I don’t expect you to do anything about it, but Mr. Roche paired us together for our term paper last week.”

That gets Dean’s attention. “What?”

“Look, I want to get an A as much as you need to, so just let me do everything and I’ll put your name on it.” Cas is shifting his weight from foot to foot. Nervous.

“Are you scared of me?” Dean asks, ignoring what Cas said. It’s true. He’d probably just fuck something up.

When he doesn’t answer, Dean makes a sudden movement to adjust his backpack and Cas flinches like he just threw a punch.

Dean nods slowly. _Guy probably thinks I'm a monster_. He rubs his face with his hand and gives one of those shoulder dropping sighs.

“Look, Cas, I’m sorry.” Cas frowns at him and Dean fights the urge to punch him in the face for turning that stupid look on him again. “What?”

“Cas.”

 _Dude’s crazy._ “Uh, yeah. Cas,” he points at him, “Dean,” turns his fingers towards himself.

Cas makes a frustrated noise. “No, you just - people usually just call me Castiel.”

“It’s kinda a mouthful, isn’t it?” Dean has the emotions buried again, back in the vault where they belong, and now it’s easy.

“I guess it doesn’t really matter.” Cas looks confused, and Dean’s still confused, because the way Cas tilts his head like that shouldn’t be adorable. “I should go,” Cas says. He takes a hesitant step backwards, his eyes still on Dean’s.

Dean watches him take another step, and then another, and then he’s turning and walking away, and Dean makes one of those snap decisions that he’s so famous for.

“Hey, Cas, wait up!” Castiel turns around slowly as he jogs over. “I wanna help with the paper.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yay, they're finally meeting (consciously). that actually took a lot longer to happen than i expected, so sorry if you were expecting dean/castiel in the first few chapters and only got dean...and castiel. i'm hoping to get some face-on-face action in either chapter 4 or 5, but if i'm being honest here, i have no idea where this is going. anyway, thanks for sticking with it & updates in a day or two.


	4. Give me a white knight on a rapidash

Castiel feels like his world was just picked up and shaken like a snow globe, and it’s entirely Dean Winchester’s fault.

After Mr. Roche chewed Dean out, Castiel was feeling acceptably hesitant about mentioning the paper, but Anna scares him and he feels like castration might have been a silently issued threat, so he tried. He really did.

Dean’s absolutely terrifying when he’s angry.

And then he wasn’t angry anymore, and now all of a sudden Castiel’s thinking of himself as Cas and Dean’s got an arm slung around his shoulders, guiding him to Dean’s car.

It’s like they’re _friends_. Cas doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do - no one’s ever touched him like this, such a casual, uninvited thing that means more than all the times Chuck’s carefully patted his arm, or Anna’s awkwardly tried to flatten his hair.

“You’re gonna love her, dude. Fixed her up myself.”

Castiel is extremely confused, until they come to a stop in front of an old black car. It certainly looks well cared for, though Cas isn’t really as into cars as your average teenage boy.

He feels the need to say something, anything. “Uh, it’s - she’s, gorgeous.”

Dean grins at him, and the effect is remarkably distracting from such a close distance. It’s at that moment that Dean seems to realize that he’s been holding onto Cas for the past five minutes and he quickly withdraws his arm to scratch at the back of his neck awkwardly. “Um, yeah. Thanks.”

Dean opens the door and slides in, Cas following his lead a moment later. Dean settles into the car like it’s a part of him, fitting the keys into the ignition without even looking. Cas nearly goes through the roof when a guitar solo screeches through the air, and Dean dives forward to turn it down to a bearable volume.

He looks over at Cas, tense in the seat, and chuckles. “Sorry, dude, sometimes I forget it’s too loud for mortals.”

Cas smiles slightly. “And what would you consider yourself?” He’s flirting. And it’s mortifying.

Dean’s eyes dance over Cas’ profile and he grins crookedly. “Oh, you know. I’m a god, haven’t you heard?”

“It may have come up a few times.”

They’re both smiling at each other, neither willing to break whatever’s building in the silence between them. Cas can't remember what it's like to think, not here, not with Dean smiling at him like Cas is a part of his life already, not with Dean's infinity of freckles scattered across his cheeks and forehead, not with the feeling that if he leaned forward and laid his hands on Dean, he could trace out constellations and find his entire night sky on Dean's body. Cas also doesn't remember how to breathe, apparently, because when Dean breaks eye contact with a sharp look downward, Cas leans his head back against the headrest and inhales violently.

"Yeah, so," Dean turns up the music again and Cas thinks that maybe Dean is blushing, because he's not normally such an interesting shade of pink. "Where to, Miss Daisy?"

Cas frowns. "I don't understand that reference."

"You don't - okay. Whatever, it's probably a little old for you."

"I'm not a baby, Dean."

"Yeah, I know, cause babies don't wear trenchcoats."

Cas looks down at the jacket he's had hidden away in the back of his closet since the third grade. "Is there something wrong with it?"

Dean's lips quirk up into a smile. "Nah, it's just who you are, Cas." He backs out of the parking space and pulls onto the road, and Cas realizes he never suggested they go to his own silent, dark house. "The weirdo in the trenchcoat." Cas stiffens until Dean finishes with an "and it works for you, man."

 _That's new_. Something _works_ for Cas?

Dean looks over to where Cas is quietly frowning into oblivion. "You okay with going to my place? It's not far."

Cas refocuses on Dean and nods and Dean sees it, because _Dean is not looking at the road and oh my god we're going to die._ "Dean, _the road_!"

 _D_ ean takes one look at Cas, who’s clinging to the car door, and he bursts out laughing. “This make you uncomfortable?” He lays his arm across the back of the seat and turns to full on stare at Cas. Cas squeezes his eyes shut. He thinks he’s going to have another panic attack.

“Dean, Dean, you can’t do that, you can’t-”

“Cas, it’s fine, I’ve been driving forever.”

“No, Dean, you can’t- _look at the goddamn road you shit_ -”

“Cas, look at me.”

Cas doesn’t want to look anywhere; he’s considering opening the door and jumping and hoping for the best, because there’s no conceivable chance that they’re going to make it anywhere alive.

“Cas.” Dean is insistent. Castiel finally opens his eyes and glares sideways at Dean, who looks like he’s somewhere between concerned and amused. “Cas, trust me.”

“Or you could just look at the road,” Cas’ voice is shaky. He doesn’t trust cars, but, against his better nature, he sort of _believes_ Dean.

“It’s no big deal, man, I’m just driving.”

“Suicidally.”

Dean laughs and turns back to face the road, which, Castiel will grudgingly admit, Dean

hasn’t veered off of. “Sorry, Cas. It’s like, the one thing I have goin’ for me. Blind driving, Fast and Furious style.”

“I don’t think that’s true, Dean.” Cas is glad that his voice is steadier now.

“What, that I’d be fucking awesome at street racing?”

Cas knows Dean is playing dumb, and he really wishes he wouldn’t. Dean has a lot more going for him than Cas, who’s never sat in the driver’s seat of _anything_.

“Dean, you know-”

“Hey, look, we’re here.” Dean pulls into the driveway of a light blue two-storied house, effectively ending the conversation. Cas chooses not to push and steps out, slipping his backpack on while observing the Winchester family home. It doesn’t look tidy, not by a long shot, and Cas has a feeling the inside probably reflects the outside’s wild, barely managed shrubs and lawn. The thing is, the house looks like someone actually lives in it. There’s a bike leaning up against the garage door, a toolbox sitting on the porch, and a light on in above the porch. Cas’ house doesn’t look like this.

“So.” Cas jumps and finds Dean resting on one elbow against the roof of the Chevy (Cas knows it’s a Chevy, at least, that has to count for something), green eyes trained on Cas. “Pass the test?”

It sounds like Dean’s daring Castiel to find something wrong with his home. _Challenge accepted._

“I think you need to cut the grass.”

Dean huffs and stalks up the porch steps, through the unlocked front door, leaving Cas to follow half a second behind.

“You want anything to eat?” Dean’s already rummaging through the fridge when Cas makes it into the kitchen, down a short hallway and past a crammed bookshelf. Castiel’s about to decline the offer, but then Dean pops his head up above the door and dramatically declares that there is, in fact, no food. “Cheese work for you?”

Dean’s a whirlwind around the kitchen, and Cas is left trying to follow whatever course of thought Dean is on.

“Hey, yeah, uh, we need two cheeses. Make ‘em grande,” he says into a phone that Cas hadn’t noticed, and then Dean is looking up at Cas and holding the phone away from his mouth. “You’re not a veganetarian or whatever, right?” Cas shakes his head and Dean goes back to his call, gives the address and hangs up.

“Dean, I really don’t need any-”

“Come on, Cas, you can’t turn down pizza.” He also can’t argue against that logic. “So, um,” Dean looks at his feet, then back up to Cas. “I guess my bedroom works, right?”

Castiel’s mind is suddenly nowhere near Andrew Jackson. He’s picturing Dean, Dean and Cas, Dean and Cas and bed, and Dean’s freckles under his hands, and Dean’s tan skin against his own pale legs and arms, and Dean wrapped around him and Dean touching him everywhere and where the hell does Andrew Jackson fit into that?

 

* * *

 

“Yo, earth to Cas?” Dude isn’t there, Dean can see it in his eyes. Damn, his eyes are blue. Dean isn’t gay, he really isn’t, but maybe he’s not 100% straight, either. He’s been in enough relationships to know that whatever’s in the eye-fucks that he and Cas are sharing is something _different._ He’s new, in a familiar way. And then Dean isn’t thinking about all the explicit things he wants to do to Cas, he’s just thinking about the things he wants Cas to do to him. No. Dean is definitely not 100% straight.

“Cas?” Cas is suddenly back to Earth, too, and it’s the two of them, on Earth, completely grounded, obviously, and then Dean smiles at his new friend, because, what else is Cas but a friend? Right? He’s just a friend, because Cas probably doesn’t, sort of, only a little bit swing that way either.

“Ready to see the batcave?” Dean asks as he starts to lead Cas up the staircase. Cas snorts in response.

Dean knows it doesn’t really matter, but he’s never really brought people home before. When it’s girls, it’s usually just a quick thing in the Impala, or at parties, or at someone else’s house, and it doesn’t mean anything -it’s never meant anything- but somehow, this matters, that Cas likes his house, and especially that Cas likes his bedroom.

Dean kicks open the door to his room like an action hero, because he has the fucking right to be a drama queen sometimes.  

The walls of his room aren’t taped over with pin-up girls and Victoria’s Secret models and playboy covers. No, Dean’s got cars, and Indiana Jones, and Star Wars, and Vonnegut and maybe a little Lord of the Rings, because he thinks Tolkien is pretty fucking awesome, and the movies are long, but they’re so worth it. Actually, his art project of a bedroom is probably why he doesn’t bring girls home.

If you could peel your attention away from the completely plastered walls for a minute, you would see his room is a mess. There are clothes everywhere, a few pairs of jeans in a crumpled heap and half of the plaid shirts he owns balled up in the corner. Dean thinks that the pizza box on his desk might be from last weekend, but it’s sort of starting to decompose and the smell is fucking rank.

Cas is blatantly analyzing it, looking more surprised than anything else. Dean’s okay with that. He likes that he’s not the dickhead jock Castiel expected.

For the second time that day, he asks, “Does it pass your test?”

Cas turns to him, with that confused puppy look, his head tilted to the side and his eyes wide and Dean wonders if he knows what he looks like. “Are these good movies?”

At that moment, each and every single plan that Dean had is out the window. There were some that involved him and Cas actually working on the paper, maybe a few more that involved him and Cas doing less talking, more touching. Now, though, there is no way Dean fucking Winchester is letting this nerd kid leave his house without a thorough movie education.

That’s why Dean is looking at Cas like he just grew wings and shat out a baby hippopotamus.

Dean shakes his head. “Dude. I know I said we were gonna work on the paper, but you have to see Star Wars. And Lord of the Rings. And - Indiana Jones. We’re watching Indiana Jones, okay?”

Cas frowns. “Dean, we need to work on the paper.”

“Yeah, man, but come on. This is important.”

Since he gets the feeling that Cas might not be totally on board with the plan yet, he grabs his hand and pulls him back down the staircase and into the living room. He forcibly pushes Cas down onto the couch, and then he realizes his fingers have taken the liberty of weaving themselves between Cas’. That is _not_ how you hold hands with a friend. Fuck, you don’t hold hands with a friend, period.

Cas is staring at their hands, and Dean’s staring at Cas. Cas makes a little ‘oh,’ like he just saw something he’d been missing, like he just found that one missing puzzle piece under the table, and suddenly he can see the unicorn running across a field, except the unicorn turned out really fucking hideous and is shooting lasers out of its horn, when all Castiel expected was a pretty white horse.

Dean is, like, 98% sure that ‘oh’ is not a good thing, so he quickly disengages his hand from Cas and instead turns and opens the cabinet that houses their complete set of Indiana Jones. He busies himself with popping the Raiders of the Lost Ark disc out of its case and jamming it into the DVD player. He kind of gets the feeling that he fucked something up, which isn’t really a surprise, because Dean is the king of all fuck ups.

Dean doesn’t even know what it is about Cas that makes him want to impress him so much. He didn’t even know the kid existed until yesterday, and that’s scary, because Dean already feels like Cas is important.

When he finally has the movie queued up, he sits down next to Cas.

“So how much do you know about Indy?”

“Well...he’s a, a cowboy?”

Dean groans. “Cas, how the hell have you gone your whole life without Indiana Jones?”

Cas looks uncomfortable. “My parents didn’t - my mother doesn’t like me to spend time on frivolous matters.” Dean gawks at him, sending him inching away slightly on the couch. “You mean she doesn’t let you read things? Or watch movies?”

Cas shrugs. “I can read things, if they’re biographies or something that’s going to help me get into Dartmouth.” Dean notices the bitter note in Cas’ voice. “She doesn’t like me to waste my time.”

“Oh.”

Dean is slightly crestfallen, because he realizes that he is wasting Castiel’s time, and maybe Cas doesn’t want his time to be wasted by someone who’s not headed to an Ivy. Or anywhere.

“Dean, I think you have to hit the play button.”

And then Dean realizes that Castiel isn’t what other people want him to be, and Dean thinks that might be the hottest thing about him.

Before he can start it, the doorbell rings and Dean has to go pay for the pizza. He pinches some money out of Bobby’s change jar and gives the guy a whopping $2 tip, closing the door before he can see the betrayed look on MY NAME IS JEFFREY’s face.

He settles back in next to Cas and practically has to shove the pizza in Cas’ face to get him to take one. Once he starts, though, Castiel almost eats Dean under the table.

 

 

 

\-----

Dean idly wonders if he should warn Cas what he’s in for. When you put one of Dean’s movies in, he will not shut up. He knows. He’s been told, countless times.

“They were gonna call him Indiana Smith. _Smith_. Dude, can you imagine?”

But the thing is that Cas actually listens to all the stupid facts Dean’s spewing out, like what he’s preaching is gospel and if Dean wasn’t there to explain, Castiel would be a lost man.

“That rolling sound’s just a car on gravel.”

Dean revels in that, because Cas isn’t pretending. Usually people are pretending around Dean.

“That guy was supposed to have a cool fight sequence, but Harrison Ford - he’s Indy - he was sick and he got pissed so he just shot him. Ha! Love that part.”

By the end of the movie, he’s not sure if Cas has really absorbed any of it, because they’re just talking.

Cas doesn’t want to go to Dartmouth. His mother’s had him on the path to New Hampshire for his entire life, but he’s thinking Cornell, maybe, or Stanford, but Stanford is so far away and he’s not sure how his mother would take it. Dean points out that since Cas is definitely getting a massive scholarship anywhere he goes, he doesn't really need his mom's approval anyway, but Cas shrugs it off and asks Dean what he wants to do after high school.

And Dean is left with the question that he has never had the answer to.

“I dunno. It’s not like my grades are good enough to go anywhere. I guess the plan is to get a job at a garage and work my way up as a mechanic.”

“Is that what you want, Dean?” Cas must hear the resigned note in Dean’s voice. He still can’t hide it well enough.

Dean’s eyes fall down to his lap, where he’s twisting his dad’s wedding ring around his finger. “I dunno, Cas. ‘S not like I have options, and it’s better than living on the streets.”

Cas’ mouth goes tight. “Dean, I think you undervalue yourself far too much. It sounds like you’re very good with cars. If you can get your history grade up and just put a little more effort into your other classes, you would be accepted into a lot of colleges.”

“Even if I did, it’s not like I could pay for it. The college fund, that’s all for Sam. Sam’s gonna do great things. You’ll meet him later, he’ll be home. He’s a genius. He’s the one that has to go to college, and I’m just here to set everything up for him.

 _“Dean.”_ Castiel sounds pained. “Dean, you have to know that you’re not worthless. There are colleges that would give you scholarships.”

“What the hell am I gonna do with a degree, Cas? Maybe I can stay four years somewhere, what the hell am I gonna do with a piece of fucking paper?”

“You really can’t think of what you would do if you could do anything in the world? It seems like you’ve been closing up your options, one by one, and maybe it’s time for you to open them back up.”

Dean calms down then, strangely relieved by something that Cas says. It’s like he’s been carrying a weight on his shoulders that reminds him he’s nothing, he’ll never amount to anything.  It’s not like talking to Cas will suddenly give him a sense of self-worth, but now he’s thinking that maybe a future isn’t so hard to imagine.

There’s also the feeling that Cas isn’t just talking about college when he mentions options, and Dean’s starting to think that the 'oh' might not have meant laser-eyed unicorns, and Cas probably might, sort of, only a little bit swing that way too.

“Where have you been all my life, man?” And he’s only sort of joking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this wasn't up yesterday, i got a really weird headache so i had to call it quits early. it's sort of long though, so i guess that's good? DON'T WORRY THERE WILL BE KISSING NEXT CHAPTER, i solemnly swear. i hope dean & cas aren't terribly ooc but let me know what you guys think. thanks for the support!


	5. I need a hero

It’s getting late by the time Cas and Dean are halfway through the Temple of Doom, which is probably the best excuse Cas could come up with for why he’s slouching with his head on Dean’s shoulder. He should go home, do his homework, go to sleep, and he would, except that would require moving. Moving is not high on Cas’ list of things to do right now.

“Dean, we’re home!” A voice calls as the shutting of a door sounds through the house. Castiel jolts away from Dean and straightens himself back into a more upright position on the couch. Dean looks at Cas, his eyes reflecting the movie above a smile that Cas thinks looks a little forced.

“That’d be Sam and Bobby.” He rises from the couch and offers his hand to Cas, who immediately grasps it. Dean swings him up to his feet and they stand there for a long moment, barely a foot of space between their chests. It’s dark and warm and Cas thought breathing was supposed to be an involuntary process but it’s not because right now he’s consciously inhaling and exhaling the same air as Dean because if he doesn’t think about how to breathe, he won’t. Dean’s eyes are flickering between his, their fairy tale green color something darker, feral, in this lighting.

“Dean?” The voice is louder. Closer.

“Yeah, Sammy, we’re comin’. Hold your goddamn horses,” he shouts back, taking a step away from Cas and releasing his hand. “He’s a little bitch, but I think you’ll like him.”

Cas thinks he will, too, judging by the way Dean talks about him, the way Dean is so content to sacrifice his future to benefit Sam’s. Cas figures you don’t just do that for a stupid kid.

“Jerk.”

The boy standing in the doorway is short (or maybe Cas and Dean are just tall), with dark brown hair that’s just on this side of punk rock. His brown eyes move from Dean to Cas and he gives a little startled jump.

“Um, yeah. This is-”

“I am Castiel.” Cas interrupts Dean’s introduction with his own, giving Sam a smile that he hopes is reassuring and friendly, two things that he is not, usually.

“Oh. Hi, Castiel.” Sam waves at him and backs out of the doorway, presumably off to do homework.

“Private Bitchface is awkward, but-”

Sam’s head pops back around the door frame. “Castiel-that’s an angel, right?”

Cas is impressed. Usually his name draws bullies, not religion students. “You are correct. I was named after the angel Cassiel. My parents are very...interested, in religion.”

Sam nods once, triumphant. “That’s pretty cool.” Then he’s gone again, and Cas is left with Dean looking at him in utter fascination.

“What?” Cas asks irritably. It’s not that big of a deal.

“You’re _literally_ an angel.” Dean huffs out one chuckle, then shakes his head and moves toward the door. “You comin’?”

“Where are we going?” Cas asks as he follows Dean to the front door. He wonders if he’s being kicked out, which would kind of make sense figuring as it’s bordering on 10 o’clock.

Dean grins over his shoulder, prompting a smile back from Cas, which is stupid, because he doesn’t know why he’s smiling. He just is.

“Bobby brings cars home sometimes. He’s been working on this old Chevelle and tonight’s the night, Cas.”

Dean reaches back and drags Cas by the arm out the door. When Cas sees it, he finally understands why Dean loves old cars so much. The car parked next to the Dean’s is blue with a white hatchback, white racing stripes dulled in the darkness. It’s shiny and buffed and it's smooth lines and muscle, like nothing he's ever seen before.

"Wow."

"You like 'er, boy?" An older man, bearded and ball-capped, rounds the Chevelle.

"This is the coolest car I've ever seen." Cas can hardly take his eyes off it long enough to introduce himself. "I'm Castiel."

Bobby looks at Dean meaningfully. Dean shrugs. "We're doing a paper together."

"Yeah, yeah. You can take 'er for a spin 'f you want, just don't wreck 'er."

Castiel can see Bobby looking at Dean strangely as he tosses Dean the keys and walks into the house, but Cas doesn't - oh. Dean's still gripping the sleeve of Cas' shirt like he doesn't even notice that his hand is fisted in the fabric.

"You wanna drive?" Dean dangles the keys out in front of Cas' face.

Cas swallows. "I don't - um, I've never driven before."

The look on Dean's face is cousin to shitting a hippopotamus, but, if possible, more disbelieving. "Never?"

Castiel shakes his head. He doesn't like cars, unless, apparently, they're forty year old beasts.

Dean sighs and pulls Cas down the porch steps and in front of the car.

"I'll teach you, Cas, just not in this old girl. You fuck her up, Bobby'll rip your heart out."

"You'll _teach_ me?"

"Hey, cars are what I do, man. It's no problem."

"Maybe I don't want to drive." Cas feels his mouth tightening into a line, any expression on his face disappearing. He's found that this subject is easiest to deal with when he's cold, emotionless on the surface. There’s always that solid knot of anger and sadness and guilt settled somewhere between his stomach and his heart that Cas keeps under wraps, because Cas isn’t expressive or emotional or any of the things Dean is so free with.

"Dude, what's wrong?"

"Nothing." His tone is clipped; he can hear it.

"Cas, I'm not forcing you, okay?" The concern in Dean's voice, the panic in his eyes, Cas wants to tell him it's not Dean's fault, it's just that Cas is kind of fucked up. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean..."

"Dean, I think I should go home." All that comes out of Cas is this plaintive voice, quieter than usual because he doesn't want Dean to push this one button.

Dean's eyes find his feet and he backs away, one step, two step, too far away. "I'll get your backpack."

 

 

 

 

 

  
\------------

The car ride back to Cas' house is painfully silent, even under the classic rock and directions Cas gives.

He fucked something up. Dean isn't bright and easy and golden and all touches, he's the cracked brown of the leather jacket he's wearing. Cas doesn't like it. Cas will never be able to let go of this day, not when he's 99 and all alone with 17 cats and a goat. Whatever he and Dean have created during the afternoon is something that feels worth hacking the comfort zone to pieces.

After the longest time of staring out the window at nothing in particular and feeling the rumbling of the engine all through his bones, Cas swings his head around and looks at Dean. They're about to pull onto his street, and Cas figures it's now or never.

"Dean?" Cas hates the way he sounds like a child in that instant, but Dean turns and looks at him. "Do you think I could, maybe, um, do the wheel?"

Dean looks confused for a second, but then Cas sees the understanding spread across his face (in the form of a grin). "You wanna steer?"

Cas slides closer to Dean on the seat, his hands itching to take the wheel and feel the car beneath him. "Can I?"

"Just don't kill anybody." Dean slides one hand to the bottom of the wheel-a safety net that Cas really appreciates right now-and settles the other one on his lap.

Cas is practically laying on top of Dean just to get his hands positioned on the Chevelle’s wheel. He can feel Dean’s warmth at his back as his fingers close around the thin metal, and Dean’s breath stirring his hair with every exhale.

But the most important thing, Cas thinks, is that he’s _driving._ Well, sort of. He’s keeping the car on a straight path down the road and it’s sort of invigorating, feeling in control of this car. For the first time, he thinks that maybe it wasn’t the car’s fault his dad died seven years ago. Maybe it’s that if you’re driving right and you’re on the road you’re supposed to be taking, things like blood on the windows don’t happen.

“You’re good at going straight,” Dean says into Cas’ hair, “you wanna try something different?”

Cas’ breath hitches in the back of his throat. “What do you mean?”

“Serpentines could be fun.” Cas can hear the smile in Dean’s voice and _damn it is this what innuendos are supposed to be like_?

“Isn’t that dangerous?”

“Not if you do it right.” Dean’s voice changes into something that sounds less like a pedophile-y seducer. “I got your back, man.”

Cas laughs into the wheel. “This is really weird.”

“The best things are, Cas.”

As they cruise down the road to Cas’ house, he starts turning the wheel, back and forth, until they’re weaving across the pavement. He loves the way the car responds under him, the weird sense of power that has him understanding Dean more fully than he thought he ever could.

It’s not enough.

Cas wants it all, he wants the gas under his foot and Dean on his lips and _this is not enough_ but it has to be, because he’s home. Dean lays his hand back on the wheel, side by side with Cas’, and pulls the car up to the curb in front of Cas’ house.

Castiel takes his hands off the wheel and sits back without ever fully returning to his own seat.

“How’d you like it?” Dean asks, eyes meeting Cas’.

Cas allows a smile and smooths his hand across the dashboard. “It was better than I expected.”

Dean’s eyes follow his hand down. “Do you want to come over again tomorrow?” Cas’ eyes snap back to Dean, who is studiously avoiding looking up.

“Only if we work on the paper for an hour.” Dean nods slowly. “And we watch the Lord of the Rings.” _That_ brings his eyes up. Dean’s smile is an absolute supernova.

“I think that works,” Dean says. His tongue slips out and runs along his lip and it should be innocent but Cas feels like it means something and now he is completely staring at Dean’s mouth.

“Um,” Dean says eloquently.

“Um,” Cas repeats, and then they’re sort of falling into each other, their mouths touching for a moment that feels like a year; it’s hardly even a kiss, but it’s new and scary and amazing and Cas thinks he’s going to implode. It sends him scrambling backwards and opening the door and then he’s outside and he still can’t bring himself to close the door, because Dean is still sitting there, flushed red and lips parted and Cas isn’t sure what that means.

“Cas-” he starts, but Cas is a fucking chicken.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he manages to get out and then he’s actually running to his front door, his heart fit to burst in his chest.

_Dean Winchester was my first kiss._

His mom is angry that he didn’t call, and she hopes he did his homework, and he better get an A+ on this paper, and why isn’t he just doing it on his own? But Cas tells her that Dean’s one of the smartest people he knows and he’ll be at the Winchesters’ again tomorrow and she lets it go.

_I kissed Dean Winchester._

Cas does his homework until late at night, but it doesn’t really matter because even when he gets in bed, he doesn’t sleep. He kissed Dean Winchester, for god's sake.

 

* * *

 

It doesn’t take long to make Cas a habit. Cas gets into the Impala every day after school, and every day they head to Dean’s place and sort of work on the paper, sort of watch a movie, get to know each other. Dean is having the best week of his life.

Cas is teaching him how to care about school and how to find vectors or whatever the hell they are. Dean never asks for help, but sometimes they’re doing homework while Bilbo is trekking across the countryside, and Cas is a pro at reading Dean’s frustrated face, so he’ll tug the paper out of Dean’s hands and show him the easy way.

The only things Dean can do for Cas are show him movies and press the gas pedal, but he’s okay with that, because he thinks they’re two of Cas’ favorite things.

They don’t talk about the sort-of-kiss, and Dean doesn’t know what to think. On the one hand, it was half Cas’ fault that it happened in the first place, but then there’s the whole thing that Cas doesn’t seem like he really wants a do-over. It’s not until the week after their ‘first date’ (Dean likes to call it, jokingly) that they have reason to revisit the subject.

“Dean, you never sit with us at lunch anymore,” Suzy complains at his locker. He’s trying to hide behind the door because there’s good reason he’s not sitting with the cheerleaders and jocks anymore. “I thought you _liked_ us.”

Dean shrugs. “I have other friends, y’know.”

Suzy comes around to the other side of Dean and sighs, arching her back so her boobs are _totally_ in his face and it’s nice, he guesses, but he’s not really into it right now. Or ever. “I heard you broke up with Lisa last week.”

Dean slams the locker door closed and turns to her. “Look, Suzy, I’m not interested, okay? I have shit to do now and I can't fuck away all my time any more." Sort of the truth; he only wants to fuck away his time with Cas, in more ways than one.

Suzy frowns and steps away. "What the fuck ever. Don't come crawling back to me when you're lonely."

Dean rolls his eyes as she leaves. _Melodramatic bitch._

It's finally the end of the day and Cas is coming back from his locker. Dean can see him walking down the hallway, and he looks cute as hell wearing that deep blue sweatervest that makes his eyes glow. It's nerdy and weird and so inherently Cas that Dean is completely lost in watching him walk.

“That guy is such a faggot.”

Dean’s head whips around and he sees Victor leaning against the lockers across the hallway, his eyes trained on Castiel and one of his friends laughing in agreement next to him. Cas’ steps falter and Dean can tell he heard and Cas isn’t supposed to hear these things about himself because fucking Victor isn’t a fucking source on anything and Dean’s been having a kind of shitty time with these fucking asshats, so it’s kind of obvious that he’ll drop his backpack and pick Victor up by his collar and slam him against the metal.

“The fuck did you just say?” Dean’s breathing hard because this fucking guy is a piece of shit and he wants nothing more than to beat his face in until his eyes come out the back of his fucking head.

“I wasn’t talkin’ to you, Winchester,” Victor chokes out. “‘Less you got somethin’ to say.”

Dean is not good at anger management. Dean is, however, good at taking it out on somebody that deserves it.

Dean punches him right in the eye, then backs up and lands one in his gut. Victor tries to take a swing at him, but Dean bats it away and starts whaling on him. With every punch it’s f _uck you, Victo_ r and f _uck you, Suzy_ and _fuck you, shitty friends._ Victor lands a few, but Dean’s too far gone to care.

He stops before Victor can slide to the ground in the fetal position because he doesn’t want to send him to the hospital (he does. He really fucking does) and steps back. “If you ever say that again, I’ll fucking destroy you.” Like he hasn’t already. He just cut off Victor’s balls and made him eat them, and everybody knows it. You don’t fuck around with Dean Winchester.

Dean bends down to pick up his backpack and then, with a sinking feeling, realizes that Cas just saw everything. He turns around slowly, glaring at kids still standing in shock until they get the message and leave.

Cas looks...weird. His eyes are huge and maybe it’s the sweatervest, but they look darker than Dean’s ever seen them. There’s a blush across his cheeks, like the first time he’d been really pissed at Dean, but he doesn’t look angry. He looks…weird.

“Cas?” Dean comes closer. “You okay?”

Cas nods abruptly and Dean falls into step beside him.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Cas mutters as they walk out of the school. Dean takes a look back before the door closes and, yep, there are definitely going to be rumors about them when they come back Monday.

“That guy’s a fucking dick, Cas. Of course I did.”

“I don’t want you getting in trouble for me, Dean.”

“He won’t tell. Then everyone’d know he got pussy kicked by me.”

_“Dean.”_

“Sorry. He got beat up by me.”

“No, I mean-”

“Cas, look.” They’re at the car, so Dean slides in and unlocks Cas’ door. “No one has the right to call you a- a-”

“A faggot,” Cas finishes for him as he gets in. “It’s not a big deal anymore.”

“It’s a fucking _huge_ deal, Cas! You can’t just let people say that shit to you.” He starts the engine and pulls out onto the road. Cas sidles up next to him in the usual position, and Dean slides his hands down on the wheel. Cas just really likes steering cars, and Dean just really likes Cas touching him. It’s probably not safe, but Dean has good reflexes and Cas has gotten better from that first night.

Before Cas takes the wheel, he turns his face into Dean’s shirt and exhales warm air. “They’ve said it before and they’ll say it again, Dean. It doesn’t really matter, not if you don’t think it’s true.”

Now Dean sort of wants to cry. “I don’t, Cas.”

“Then I’m fine.”

 

 

 

 

 

\--------------

Cas steers them home and as soon as they get to his room (which Dean has cleaned up since the first time, thank you very much), Dean throws both of their backpacks onto the floor.

“I’m gonna teach you how to beat the shit out of someone.”

“I’m not going to, Dean.”

“You never know, man.” Dean can kind of see Cas walking down a dark alley and getting mugged and he’s pretty sure Cas would be an easier target than a drunk college girl, so this is totally happening.

Cas sighs resignedly as Dean shrugs out of his jacket, but a second later, he throws his trenchcoat on Dean’s bed.

“This is how your arms go,” Dean demonstrates with his fists up, elbows tucked in. He looks at Cas until the other boy grudgingly does the same. “Great. So, number one thing about fighting is you never wanna be in the same place for more’n a second.” He starts to bob around, shifting his feet and dancing like a boxer. “Duck and weave.” Cas copies him, and he has pretty good form, so Dean dances closer. “I’m not gonna hit you, so don’t worry.”

“That’s reassuring, Dean.”

Dean silences him with a slap upside the head. “Maybe I lied, then.” Cas glares at him so he goes back to instruction.

“So when I go for your face,” Dean’s fist stops an inch away from Cas’ cutting cheekbones, “I’m leaving my side protected.”

Cas taps Dean’s ribs lightly.

“Yeah. Go for it. Punch me. I want to see what you got.”

Cas looks at him. “Are you sure?”

Dean’s pretty sure Cas couldn’t get much power behind anything he’d throw; he’s sort of a weedy guy. “Yeah, it’s not like - oof!”

Cas is smiling like a smug bastard, Dean holding his side. “You could’ve told me you knew how to punch, dick.”

“My mom made me take karate in elementary school,” he admits and Dean shoves him playfully.

“What, so you’re a pro?”

That leads to a bout of boxing that’s not as bad as Dean expected. He could’ve taken Cas down a few times, but it’s not like he’s doing much more than pulling the punches. His knuckles are already sore from pounding Victor in and he doesn’t want to mark Cas up like that. Cas is doing the same, and in the end they only stop because they’re both out of breath.

They finally settle down, Cas pulling out his books and notebook, Dean his laptop. Cas is mostly writing the rough draft and Dean is “researching”, which mostly involves surfing the web for little-known facts about Andrew Jackson.

“Dude, he was _badass._ Look,” Dean drops down onto the floor next to Cas and tilts the screen towards him. “He _dueled._ That’s, like, renaissance, isn’t it? Shakespeare?”

“I’m impressed that you read Romeo and Juliet.”

“No, Cas, some guy tried to kill him and he had _two guns_ and _both of the guns wouldn’t fire_ so he just beat the guy to a pulp instead.”

“That’s actually kind of interesting,” Cas admits, looking at the article again.

“Can we put it in the paper?” Dean’s excited because so far, he hasn’t done anything helpful. At this point, Cas probably would have done better just writing it on his own, but he doesn’t seem to mind spending all his time at Dean’s.

Cas looks seriously at Dean. “I think we better.”

As per routine, they work until 5:30, then go downstairs and get something to eat. Sometimes Sam is home, sometimes he’s at the garage with Bobby; today he’s out and they have the house to themselves.

“Lucky Charms, breakfast, lunch, and dinner.” Dean fucking _loves_ Lucky Charms. He and Cas end up eating them basically every other day, and thank God Cas gets a repressed diet at home because the kid loves Winchester fare.

“I think you have a problem,” Cas says as Dean pours out two bowls of cereal and milk. Dean notices that he doesn’t even attempt to refuse the bowl Dean hands him, though.

They sit on the couch and eat and Dean turns on The Prisoner of Azkaban, because they’ve finished the others and Dean can’t believe Cas hasn’t seen Harry Potter. 

“Harry is very loyal,” Cas observes about 40 minutes in. “He reminds me of you, sort of.”

Dean snorts. “Really?”

“You’re much more violent.”

“And hotter.”

“That too, probably.”

Dean looks up at Cas, who’s watching the tv with a blush on his face. Dean isn’t sure if he’s a tease or confused or what, but Cas goes and pulls him in with his flirting and looking and his steering, and then he goes and pretends there’s no glorious sexual tension in the air between them.

That’s not how Dean works. Dean likes to touch, and there’s not enough of that going on right now and Dean is never good at making excuses.

“You know how to wrestle?”

Cas shrugs. “Fourth grade karate is all I really have.”

Dean smiles wickedly, then hooks an arm around Cas’ shoulder and pulls him to the floor. Cas flails around like an octopus for a few minutes, never really getting the top hand, and in the end, Dean just sits on him.

“You kinda suck,” Dean informs him, his hands pinning Cas’ wrists to the floor.

“I gave you advance warning,” Cas smart-mouths.

Dean leans in closer. “Not enough.”

Cas doesn’t respond for a long moment. Dean can see his eyes flitting from Dean’s eyes to his lips and back again, but he doesn’t want to press anything with Cas. They’re really fucking close, and Dean knows it’s the gayest thing he’s ever thought, but he feels like he can see oceans in Cas’ eyes.

“Fuck it, Dean.”

 

* * *

 

Cas doesn’t curse aloud often, but Dean is curse-worthy and this situation is definitely curse-worthy, because Dean Winchester is his first and second and third and forever and always kiss.

Cas wants Dean’s mouth on his, and for some reason Dean’s been so hesitant about actually being physical with Cas ever since the almost-kiss, so this is Cas’ initiative now.

He reaches up and pulls Dean’s head down to meet him, and this kiss is one fucking million times better than the last one, a billion times better than anything Cas has ever felt before. Dean’s lips are soft and insistent against his, and no matter how many times Cas has fantasized about this for the past week, this is so much better.

Dean’s hands are in Cas’ hair and pulling and _oh God_ it feels amazing, and Cas can’t stop the deep moan that rumbles up from his throat. Dean responds by pushing his tongue into Cas’ mouth. He tastes like Lucky Charms and when Dean moans, he can feel the vibrations in his whole body.

Dean pulls off him for a moment to catch his breath. “Fuck, Cas, you’re fucking gorgeous.”

And then he’s back, but this time his lips are on Cas’ neck, trailing their way down to the collar of his shirt, then back up again. When Dean hits one spot, Cas whimpers and then Dean goes to town, kissing and sucking and biting until Cas’ hazy mind can figure out that he’s trying to leave a mark, and that realization is really fucking hot and suddenly, Castiel doesn’t like being so passive anymore.

He grips Dean’s hips and rolls them over until Cas is the one straddling Dean, pressing his lips back to Dean’s forcefully.

“You too,” Cas breathes before diving back in, kissing his way along Dean’s jawline. Dean’s fingers sneak under the hem of Cas’ shirt, circling their way up and down Cas’ back.

It’s like they’re not two people any more-they’re not Dean and Cas, they’re Dean&Cas. Cas wants more; he wants to count Dean’s freckles and the stupid shirt is in the way, so he pulls it up, over Dean’s face. Cas can hear him laughing from under it, but he takes it the rest of the way off and pulls Cas down for a deep, tongue-fucking kiss. When they break apart, Cas begins to make his way down Dean’s body. There’s a few freckles on his collarbone, like Cassiopeia. The next cluster is on his shoulder, and then there’s about five million on his chest, and his stomach, too, and then there’s his hips and Cas isn’t ready for that, not yet, so he comes back up to Dean’s face. He looks so eager and turned on that Cas almost wonders if he maybe can’t just unzip Dean’s pants and do something to him, but Dean has different ideas.

“Shirt. Off. Now.”

Cas sits back and pulls the sweatervest up and over, throwing it on the floor next to Dean’s. He’s about to start undoing the buttons on his other shirt, but Dean sits up and stops Cas’ hands. Dean’s fingers have Cas out of his shirt remarkably fast, and it’s such a strange, amazing thing to have Dean undressing him.

Dean finally drops Cas’ shirt to the side and pushes him back until he’s sitting against the couch, Dean climbing onto his lap. The feel of their skin together, Dean’s hands combing through his hair, the way Dean’s grinding down on him, like he’s giving a lap dance; Cas feels so insanely alive that he hardly wants to blink. He doesn’t want to miss the way Dean’s looking at him like he’s the only one he has eyes for.

But of course, all good things must come to an end. The front door slams and Dean and Cas spring apart, scrambling for clothes on the floor. In the end, Cas is wearing Dean’s ACDC t-shirt and Dean’s more or less got Cas’ shirt buttoned on.

Cas looks at Dean, who’s grinning like he just stole Christmas.

“What?” 

Dean's laughing.

" _What_?"

“It totally looks like I just fucked you.”

Cas pushes him off the couch. He regrets nothing.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i promised a kiss so this is long as hell to get it in. i'm really awful at writing attempted smut and it's 1 in the morning so i have no idea what this chapter even is.  
> anyway, THANK YOU FOR CONTINUING IN READING THIS really you guys are absolutely fantastic. i think there's going to be either one or two more chapters & i'll try to have the next one up by monday night.
> 
> UPDATE: sorry, i had a ton of hw. it'll definitely be up sometime tuesday.


	6. Somewhere in my wildest fantasy

"Cassie." Gabriel corners him as soon as he walks into lunch the day the paper's due. "We need to talk."

Cas arches an eyebrow. "About what?"

Gabe pulls him in the direction of the vending machines. "You've been spending a lot of time with Dean lately, and I just want-"

"Gabe," he slips into Dean's nickname for his older brother, "He's my best friend."

"And?" Gabe prompts, a little too smugly.

Suddenly there's an arm slung across Cas' shoulders and a sloppy kiss on his cheek. "And we're in loooooove," Dean croons into Cas' ear.

Gabe looks simultaneously disgusted and triumphant. “I fucking _knew_ it!”

Cas frowns. “It’s not like it's a secret, Gabe.” He and Dean have been hanging all over each other at lunch, though, now that he thinks about it, they never did tell the table that they’ve been dating.

“Yeah, but Cas, c’mon, you’re the most oblivious person I know. Kinda thought you guys were just doing gay shit without noticing.”

“I’m not _that_ oblivious.”

“And I’m not gay.”

Cas and Gabe turn to look at Dean with the exact same incredulous expression: eyebrow lifted in disbelief, knowing smiles across their mouths.

“I’m _not,”_ Dean insists, eyes looking from Gabe to Cas and then down. “I’m just,” he scuffs his foot on the floor, “I’m just into you, Cas.”

A huge smile spreads across Cas' face. He can hear Gabe making vomiting noises behind him, but Cas can't exactly be bothered. He reaches up and threads his fingers through the hand that's still dangling from his shoulder.

"You're amazing," he whispers into Dean's ear. "And gay."

"Fuck you, Cas," Dean may _sound_ emphatic, but he in no way makes a move to separate from Cas and this, Cas thinks, this is what being in love is.

"As much as I hate even _looking_ in your general puppy love direction, you should probably know that I thought Cas was asexual until you, Dean." And then Gabriel waltzes off with a package of mini Oreos that Cas isn’t sure if he actually paid for. Gabriel works in mysterious ways.

Dean shakes his head as they follow Gabriel to the table, still all knotted together.

"So I turned you on and you turned me gay," he says drily.

Cas snickers. "That's a new way to put it."

When they reach the table, Becky is staring at them like she's possessed.

"Gabriel says you're dating," she says slowly.

"Um. Yes." Cas sits down and Dean lowers himself in next to him, both waiting for Becky's reaction.

"OH MY GOD!" She squeals. "MY REAL LIFE OTP, IT'S CANON!" The table is otherwise in silence. "I wasn't sure it was true, you know? All the shows have the long, pining looks and the loving touches and sexual tension like you wouldn't believe and the writers try and deny it but _you,_ you didn't deny it! I _knew_ it! True love transcends gender!"

Chuck looks embarrassed. "She's been shipping you guys since we got the project," he mutters across the table.

Cas can feel Dean's laughter before he hears it, and soon the whole table is giggling. Anna sits down next to Cas a few minutes later and starts a conversation with Becky about Teen Wolf which, okay, Cas had no idea she watched. Dean and Chuck are arguing about the latest Lord of the Rings movie, the one Dean took Cas to last weekend and Cas has no idea what it was about because he and Dean were basically just making out the whole time. It was awesome.

That's not the point, though. As Cas is watching, he realizes that Dean fits here. It doesn't seem like it should make sense; a god like Dean with all the nerds and misfits.

And Jo.

Cas can see her blonde head making its way through the lunch line. She'd come to stand in front of their little round table a few days after Dean had reasoned that lunch could be a good time to work on the paper (which they never did. Ever). Jo's explanation was that "there's no point in sitting there without you, Dean," and that was all that was necessary for everyone to squish in a little more and make some room. Jo hit it off with Gabe, a massive surprise to everyone. Apparently Jo is as into pranks as Gabriel is, and Cas is pretty sure there’s already been glitter bombs and booby traps involved. Dean assures Cas that he is, in fact, a pro at pranking. Cas isn’t sure if it’s supposed to be comforting or threatening.

As Dean ends his discussion with Chuck, Cas surreptitiously places his hand on Dean's thigh. He feels Dean stiffen under his fingers.

This could be a good prank.

Cas could be pranking king.

Cas watches Dean out of the corner of his eye as he moves his hand up. He’s staring at Becky’s lunchbox like it’s the Holy Grail and Cas, though he’d initially intended to stop, bites his lip and he just goes for it. Cas isn’t usually so bold, but he feels a little giddy with the idea that Dean’s sexuality is Castiel. That’s cause for celebration if there ever was.

Dean’s breath hitches when Cas’ fingers brush over his zipper and the bulge in his pants, his hand reaching out to grasp Cas’ forearm. It’s not a restraining touch but a desperate one, something that makes Cas think Dean’s been waiting for this for a long time. Cas doesn’t really know how this is supposed to work, but he presses his palm down and Dean jerks.

“What the fuck are you two doing over there, blushing like idiots?” Gabe’s still laughing from his conversation with Jo. “Playing footsie under the tab-” He ducks his head under the table. Cas winces when he jumps and hits his head on the underside of it. “Fuck! Fuck! No, no no no no _my eyes_ oh fuck no!”

Castiel quietly withdraws his hand from Dean.

“I can’t fucking _believe,_ oh my god, _ew.”_

“You wouldn’t have to see this if you’d just graduated like you were supposed to last year,” Cas snaps. “And anyway, it’s a prank.”

“You don’t fucking grope someone under the table for a - a - Becky, what the fuck are you doing?”

Everyone else has the decency to look around and pretend the scenery of the cafeteria is suddenly fascinating, but Becky’s actually underneath the table, trying to figure out what’s happening. Chuck pulls her back up.

“I don’t even have to write my own fanfic anymore, it’s _real life.”_

“You’re so involved in fictional relationships that you don’t have time for any of your own!”

Cas looks from Becky to Chuck, feeling like he’s missing something.

“Chuck’s in love with Becky,” Anna whispers to Cas.

“Becky has no idea,” Dean shakes his head on the other side.

Cas wonders how both Anna, who’s only occasionally there for lunches, and Dean, who only showed up a few weeks ago, are more perceptive than he is, with his perfect attendance record.

“I hope you know you’re paying me back for being such a fucking tease,” Dean mutters.

Cas shrugs innocently. “It was just a prank.”

“I call bullshit,” Dean’s lips brush Cas’ ear as he whispers it. “That’s not a prank.”

Cas shudders but hell if he’s going to crack on this one. He’s found that messing with Dean is one of his favorite things to do; he’ll blush and curse and call Cas out on it and they always end up giggling between kisses later.

“Isn’t it?” Cas takes a well-timed drink of his water and almost sprays it across the table when he sees Dean’s face.

“Jeez, Cas, don’t go around pranking anybody else, okay?”

“It’s a prank, Dean.”

“Yeah, but, um, maybe you should only prank me from now on.”

Cas can feel the smile growing across his face and he’s pretty sure it’s pure evil. “Okay, Dean.”

“Oh, fuck.”

 

 

\--------------------

The nose of the Impala edges up to the stop sign, a little closer, a little closer-

“Cas, you don’t need to stop right on the line.”

“So I should go?”

“You should go.”

Cas is trying really hard not to freak out. This car is capable of murder (and so is Dean, if he messes up her paint job).

With a deep breath, Cas pulls out onto the road and they begin to make their way to Dean’s.

“Dude. Gas.”

Cas thinks 27 mph is more than fast enough, but he presses down harder on the gas and the speedometer swings up to 40.

“Oh god, we’re going to die.”

“You’re doing fine, Cas.”

“We’re going to die.”

“Turn. Turn. _Turn!”_

“Oh.”

“It’s-it’s fine, Cas, just pull a U-ey.”

“This car is a fucking monster, it’s not going to-”

“Okay, okay, K-turn. It’s _fine,_ Cas.”

“We’re going to die, we’re going to die, we’re going to die-”

“Hey, that was - that was actually a really good K-turn.”

“We’re going to die.”

“We’re almost home, okay, just turn here - good, good turn. And - stay more towards the middle of the road, watch that storm drain - awesome.”

“Oh my god there’s another car, what do I do?”

“Let him go first. Just wave him on.”

“Oh my god.”

“We made it!”

“Oh my god.”

“Dude, are you okay?”

“I can’t believe we made it home alive,” Cas takes out the keys and looks at Dean, some of the tension from the drive melting out of his body.

“I told you you’d be fine,” Dean does look sort of relieved, though.

And then Cas realizes he just called Dean’s house his home. It’s sort of true, though; he’s spent more time at Dean’s house in the past few months than he has at his own. They’ve gone to Cas’ house a few times, but they’d silently agreed that the laidback lawlessness of the Winchester home was better than the strict homework supervision of the Novak household.

It’s not until later, when they’re watching one of the Fast and Furious movies (they laugh when Dean’s driving trick comes on) that Dean stops petting Cas’ hair for a moment. “Was that closure?”

It takes Cas a minute to understand what Dean’s talking about, but when he does, he smiles softly. “I think it was.”

“Good.” Cas twists around to see Dean’s smile, bright in the darkness of the room. Suddenly, Cas is being pushed back to vertical.

“I’ll be right back.” Dean stands up and moves to the door. “I wanna show you something.”

In the short time that Dean’s gone, Cas comes up with about 50 theories for what Dean’s going to come back down the stairs with. None of them started with an envelope.

“What’s-is that-Dean, did you apply for college?”

Dean’s answering grin is huge. Cas feels a sweeping sense of pride, but also, strangely, loss, because Dean will go to college and Cas will go to college and then there will be no more Dean&Cas (Destiel, Becky calls it) because ampersands can’t stretch 100s of miles.

“Guess where?” Dean’s practically bouncing up and down.

“Um…”

“Ithaca!”

Cas stares at Dean. “What?”

Dean’s smile falters. “I thought-”

“You’re coming to Ithaca?”

“I was planning to, but-”

Castiel jumps on Dean and kisses the everloving hell out of him. “You,” Cas pants when he pulls away, “You are amazing.”

“It’s all your fault, anyway,” Dean grumbles with a smile. “You came in here telling me _reach for the stars_ and _the world is your oyster_.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever said those things in my life.”

“You know what I mean,” Dean sticks his tongue out childishly and Cas laughs, feeling lighter than he ever has before. He knows it’s statistically improbable, but the way Cas feels about Dean makes him think that he’ll always be the only one.

“Can I see it?”

Dean hands over the envelope and Cas pulls out the acceptance letter, the pamphlets, the excessive paperwork. “Ithaca College - that’s a good school, Dean.” Cas looks up at him and Dean seems to understand what he’s saying.

“I talked to Bobby. It’s probably gonna be around 30 grand a year.” Dean sits back down and Cas follows suit. “He sorta told me to get my ass to college and use up all the money we were saving for Sam, ‘cause there’s no way he’s not getting a ton of scholarships.”

Cas and Dean share a laugh. Cas has gotten to know Sam well enough to be able to vouch for that.

“I guess Bobby was planning on forcing me to go somewhere. I’m just glad he made me take the SAT last year.”

“Do you know what you want to do?” Cas has thought about this a few times, late at night, but can never come up with something inherently Dean. There’s always mechanical engineering, though Cas can’t see Dean sitting through classes to learn something he already knows.

“They have this one major, Film Studies, and I was kinda thinking...I know it’s sorta impractical, but I think I might be able to get a good job pretty soon outta college and, um, you know how much I like movies, and I just kinda thought, you know.”

Cas tilts his head to the side and thinks about it and it really makes more sense than anything he’s come up with and he’s just so damn excited for Ithaca now.

“That sounds perfect, Dean.”

“Really?” Dean perks up, and Cas thinks that maybe he’s asking Cas for permission to do something different and right.

“Really.”

Whatever happens at the end of Fast and Furious, Cas’ll never know, because Dean is really affectionate. And persistent.

 

* * *

  

If Dean’s being honest with himself, he never expected this moment to really happen. It’s surreal, walking up on stage and posing for a picture, smiling among the clapping because he can hear Cas whooping from somewhere in the back.

When the ceremony ends, he finds Bobby and Sam and Cas and waves the diploma in the air like a trophy. Bobby looks like he’s about to cry.

“I’m gonna miss you at the garage, boy.” That’s the closest Bobby’s ever really come to emotion, so Dean wraps him in a tight hug.

“We’re gonna visit,” he says, fighting back the tears in his own eyes. “I promise, we’ll come back a lot.”

Bobby sniffs. “Sam’ll be out there, too. Maybe I better move shop.”

“Californians need garages, too,” Dean says, already thinking about what a reality show that’d be. West Coast Winchesters, they’d probably call it, and they would get a shit ton of money. Maybe when he’s higher up on the ladder, he’ll pitch it.

“Sammy,” Dean ruffles Sam’s hair, which is sort of a weird gesture now that Sam’s taller than him. “I would say bye, but I’ll see you in, like, two months.”

“Bye anyway, jerk.”

“Bitch.”

“Good luck, Dean.”

“Thanks, Sammy.”

Dean steps back and watches as Cas goes through his goodbyes, hugging Sam, giving a handshake-turned-hug to Bobby, promising that he’ll keep an eye on Dean and make sure his head doesn’t get too big, which Dean is pretty sure has no chance of happening because he’s literally going to be the assistant to the assistant of the assistant director, but it almost pays enough to live off of and Cas has a job opening for a semester professorship at Stanford, and Sam’ll be coming out to Stanford on the closest he can get to a full ride (Dean’s pretty sure the only thing they’ll be paying for is the meal plan, because even Sasquatches need to eat), and if Bobby moves out there and Jo comes to visit as often as she promises, and Chuck and Becky can stop writing weird books and cosplaying long enough to fly out, and Gabe’ll be there mooching off of Cas anyway, because that’s what he does, and Cas says Anna’s trying to see the world, and California’s part of the world; if Dean and Cas can manage to hold onto all of their friends and keep the network of emails and texts and newsletters (Chuck and Becky’s monthly updates that are really fucking weird but just as entertaining), Dean thinks that everything will stay golden.

Cas and Dean finally say goodbye and get into the Impala, their entire apartment crammed in the backseat & the fit-a-dead-body trunk.

Dean drives for a while, both of them singing along to the ACDC that Dean introduced Cas to years ago. After a few songs, Cas turns to Dean, looking like the thoughtful professor he’s going to be.

“What?”

“I was just thinking,” Cas says slowly, “about how much I owe Andrew Jackson.”

And Dean laughs, because ain’t that the fucking truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOLY SHIT I'M DONE??!!  
> oh my god. i think this is the first story i've ever really finished, period. thank you guys sooooo much for reading & your encouragement. you're all absolutely fantastic & i am forever indebted to you.  
> stay classy, san diego.


End file.
